


Want

by the_ocean_burned



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Ronan's imagination is very dark and twisted, burying bodies, gore???, implied/reference child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ocean_burned/pseuds/the_ocean_burned
Summary: Of all the things Ronan Lynch wants, Adam Parrish takes priority, though Ronan is too afraid of hurting Adam to actually do anything about it. Instead, he sticks to quiet gestures and tries to help as much as he can without giving himself away. Set after the church scene in BLLB.





	

Ronan was no stranger to burying bodies. Whether it was night horrors or a memory of his father’s corpse or a bundle of Noah’s bones or Adam or Gansey or Blue, mutilated by his gruesome and horrific imagination, Ronan had buried the people he loved a thousand times over. There was a tiny plot of land on the Barns, as far away from the farmhouse as Ronan had been able to drag his father’s dead weight through the rain and his tears that first night he had dreamt up a dead thing, that Ronan had dedicated to all of the people his head had killed.

The one thing he had never done, though, was bury _himself._ This was an entirely new phenomenon and Ronan decidedly hated it. Every time Ronan looked at his dream self, he imagined Gansey covered in those visceral stings, dying because of it, and he replayed Adam’s panicked horror as he had watched Ronan die. A part of Ronan got a twisted, sadistic sort of pleasure that Adam was so thoroughly affected by seeing Dream Ronan die. The rest of him just felt sick.

The _wrongness_ of the dream still sat between his lungs, clammy and cold as it nestled there like Chainsaw liked to nestle in the crook of his neck while he tried to sleep. It wasn’t nearly as comforting as Chainsaw was, though. The idea that Adam, strange and elegant and distant Adam Parrish who was not nearly as unknowable as he thought he was, could devote his precious spare time to something so disturbingly heinous was almost surprising. _Almost._ But Ronan – or at least a part of Ronan – had known that Adam would have to come up with something like that to begin with. That was why he had asked Adam instead of doing it himself. Ronan did not like lying, and so he didn’t. But Adam had spent so long lying to survive that it was second nature to him anymore.

Ronan stopped thinking about it because that train of thought only got worse the longer it went on. He knew _that_ well enough; countless sleepless nights in the BMW or Monmouth had proven that quickly. The only place he seemed to be able to sleep anymore with any semblance of peace was on the floor beside Adam’s mattress in St. Agnes.

Of course, it was a crapshoot as to whether or not that would continue to be true. Ronan didn’t know if Adam would even let him into the apartment at unholy hours of the night anymore, not after that. And even if he did, it was anyone’s guess as to whether or not Ronan would be able to sleep properly anymore. It was one thing to dream the mutilated corpse of your father or your brother or your best friend or the boy you loved. It was another thing entirely to dream up your _own_ mutilated corpse.

There was a very large, very nasty difference between the two situations and Ronan decided to pretend it did not exist. It made coping easier in the end.

The drive to the Barns was long and silent. Ronan didn’t even have the heart to listen to the Murder Squash Song. Any sort of levity seemed _wrong_ when rigor mortis was setting in on a second, very dead Ronan that was lying haphazardly across the back seat of the BMW. Ronan still felt sick.

Actually burying the body was a hazy process that Ronan almost immediately forgot. He had gone numb to the gruesomeness of the task due to years of repetitive process.

On the way back to Henrietta, Ronan’s mind finally began to clear. And when it did, Ronan remembered how terrified and brokenly horrified Adam had looked while he watched Dream Ronan die. Another wave of nausea crashed down on Ronan, but it was not lingering revulsion at his dead body. This time, it was concern, so potent and tangible Ronan felt choked by it.  God only knew what was going through his head right now. Guilt, more than likely – Adam had an incredibly awful habit of blaming himself for everything.

Ronan made a split second decision and turned onto the road that lead to the street rather than continuing on to Monmouth. He wasn’t sure what he’d do when he did face Adam again. He wouldn’t apologize, certainly, because he was not sorry that he had been able to produce what Adam needed to cripple Greenmantle. He was sorry that Adam had been there to witness the aftermath, but he had warned Adam and Adam hadn’t listened. Really, it was Adam’s fault, but Ronan wasn’t going to hold it against him. Adam had had no way of knowing it would be that awful. Ronan had not known, either, in all honesty. He had known it would be bad – nightmares always were – but he never would have guessed that it would be _that_ horrific.

A few blocks from St. Agnes, a battered blue pickup truck roared past Ronan, headed away from the church. Ronan’s heart seized. He _knew_ that truck and he _knew_ the man behind the wheel. Ronan had to quell the urge to cut Robert Parrish off and reacquaint his face with Ronan’s fist.

There was nothing, in Ronan’s opinion, that he had ever done that was more intensely satisfying than beating the shit out of Adam’s father had been. He still hadn’t hurt the bastard enough to be proper revenge for what he had done to Adam.

Now fear of a different sort was racing through Ronan’s veins, completely opposite the terror from earlier. Before, it had numbed him, paralyzed him, but now it sent his heart racing and he pressed his foot down on the gas pedal. The BMW purred beneath him as he accelerated, but it still couldn’t calm the rapid, terrified flutter of his pulse.  

 _Faster, faster, faster._ He had to get to Adam. If Robert Parrish had so much as laid a finger on Adam, Ronan was going to kill him. He was going to cut off every single one of Robert Parrish’s extremities and then tear his throat out if he had hurt Adam.

The lot was empty when Ronan pulled in, so he didn’t have to worry about parking properly. He barely remembered to lock his car before he was tripping up the staircase to Adam’s apartment, taking them three at a time. It was at times like this when Ronan was eternally grateful for his long legs.

He did not bother knocking; he just shoved the door open and stepped inside. Manners weren’t something that Ronan had any consideration for when there was a very real possibility that Adam had gotten hurt.

It took Ronan a moment to find Adam. When he did, every muscle in his body relaxed out of the tight knots that panic had twisted them into. Adam lay on his mattress, legs curled up to him and hands balled to his chest, sleeping, his breaths even and calm. Ronan let out a breath and shut the door, considerably quieter than he had opened it. Now that the terror was receding, Ronan was glad that he had not woken Adam. He got little enough sleep as it was; he didn’t need Ronan waking him up by barging into his apartment unannounced.

Shivering a little, Ronan picked up Adam’s too-thin blanket off the floor and draped it over Adam. It was freezing in the tiny apartment and Adam couldn’t afford to get sick. After a moment’s hesitation, Ronan returned to the BMW and pulled a heavy wool blanket out of the trunk. The Lynches had used it for picnics, once upon a time, but Ronan had not removed it from the car since Niall Lynch had died. The blanket was probably dirty, but Ronan figured it was better than nothing.

This time when he went to tuck the blanket carefully around Adam, Ronan noticed twin still-damp tear tracks on Adam’s cheeks. Something inside Ronan twisted painfully. It did not look like Robert Parrish had hit Adam, but clearly in this case, his words had been enough.

Ever so gently, careful not to wake Adam, Ronan swept his thumb along the path of the tears, wiping them from Adam’s freckled cheeks. Adam shifted, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening for a moment, but he stayed asleep. Ronan was not entirely sure if this disappointed him or relieved him.

For a few long minutes, Ronan crouched beside Adam, brushing his hair away from his eyes. Even in his sleep Adam couldn’t manage to relax fully. Ronan blamed Robert Parrish. Years of fearful conditioning had made it hard for Adam to sleep properly and Ronan despised Robert Parrish for it. Well, there were other reasons, but that was one of the more major ones.

Ronan couldn’t resist pressing a feather-light kiss to Adam’s temple before he stood. He locked the apartment door behind him, then slammed the door of the BMW and sped off. He needed a drink. Maybe if he got shitfaced, whatever had contorted so painfully between his lungs would straighten out again. Maybe if he got shitfaced, he would be able to breathe again. Alcohol was a poor substitute for Adam’s company, but it was the best Ronan had.


End file.
